


with icing on top

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #instaflirting, Alternate Universe, Cupcake shop au, Cupcakes, Dean Loves Pie, Flirting, Fluff, Instagram, Lawrence Kansas, M/M, Social Media, Using social media to flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a honey cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with icing on top

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SillyBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyBlue/gifts).



> _Thank you_ to 51stcenturyfox for the beta, and to Diminuel for posting [this adorable picture of a cupcake shop](https://twitter.com/Diminuel/status/578576781298573313), which is the entire reason this fic exists in the first place. And you can see pictures of pretty cupcakes I used for inspiration [over here](https://www.pinterest.com/museaway/cass-cupcake-shop/)!

It starts with a honey cake.

Sam is visiting from Stanford and insists on playing tourist, even though they grew up in Lawrence and literally know all the best places; there’s no reason to try the latest trend, a freaking _cupcake shop_ , when he can get Salted Honey pie at Ladybird Diner. But Sam pulls up in front of a clean white storefront with a large picture window and the words "Life is just a cup of cake" stenciled over the door in whimsical lettering. Dean can just picture the proprietor, a pink-faced woman pushing sixty in a frilly pink apron handing out cupcakes to a bunch of grubby-handed kids.

"I read about this place on Yelp," Sam says, like Dean knows what Yelp is.

He glares out the passenger window. "I’ll wait in the car."

"Fine," Sam agrees without further argument and climbs out. Dean follows him with a sigh—how often is Sam home anymore now that he’s planning to become a big-time lawyer?—and winces as the chimes announce their arrival.

It doesn’t look the way he thought a cupcake shop would. The counter is honey-stained wood, and overhead are industrial-style lights. A chalkboard lists today’s special flavors in tidy handwriting: banana with salted caramel peanut butter, lemon with blackberry buttercream, honey cupcakes with honey cream cheese frosting. Across the top, someone has written, "A cupcake is happiness with icing on top."

There’s no pink in sight—not in the decor and not on the cheeks of the person behind the counter, not a middle-aged woman but a guy, a young guy about Dean’s age, with dark tousled hair and an unassuming gray t-shirt. Dean watches him photograph cupcakes on a tiered stand, protected by a sheet of glass.

"Instagram," the guy explains, smiling as Sam approaches. He sets his phone on the counter. "How can I help you?"

"I’ll take the double chocolate with chocolate ganache and a latte." Sam turns to look at Dean over his shoulder. "You want anything?"

"Uh, I’m good," Dean says, eyeing the display.

"Are you sure?" the guy asks, punching Sam’s order into the register—which isn’t a register at all but an iPad on some fancy metal stand. They probably bake their cupcakes in the cloud, wherever that is. "I grind the coffee fresh every morning."

"Alright, yeah. I’ll take a small."

"Nothing to eat?"

"I don’t really like cake," Dean answers, which is probably rude considering he’s in a cupcake shop, but the guy did ask.

"Do you like cornbread?"

"It’s okay," Dean replies with a shrug.

The guy gives him a closed-mouth smile and tells Sam his total, puts one chocolate cupcake on a small black tray, on a white square plate, and prepares Sam’s order.

"One latte for you," he says, sliding it over. "And a small coffee," he adds, turning around for a mug.

"I’ll grab a seat," Sam says, taking the tray and heading toward the window.

Dean waits while the guy pours a cup of coffee and places it on a second tray with an empty white plate. He takes a golden cake from the case and drizzles it with honey.

"It’s on the house," he says, sliding the tray over.

"Thanks, man, but you don’t have to do that."

"I know the owner." The guy winks, and Dean catches the color of his eyes, blue as the ’57 Bel Air they had in the shop last month. He swallows.

"Well, thank you," Dean says again, dropping his eyes to the guy’s chest. He looks for a nametag but comes up empty.

"Castiel," the guy supplies.

"That’s some name."

"What’s yours?"

"Dean."

"Well, _Dean_ , I think your boyfriend is waiting for you," Castiel whispers. He nods toward the window, where Sam has settled in and is happily connected to the wifi. He’s probably instatweeting a picture of his cupcake to Jess.

Dean coughs out a laugh. "That’s my brother. He’s visiting from college."

"My mistake," Castiel says, though he doesn’t sound sorry. "Tell me how you like the cake."

"Will do," Dean says, backing away from the counter. Castiel holds his gaze for a moment, then goes to the sink to clean his hands.

Sam has them seated so that Dean’s back is to the counter, but he’s sure Castiel is watching him. The cake is shaped like a bee hive, glossy with honey. He almost feels bad for stabbing it with a fork, but Castiel did comp him. It probably gets taken out of his wages, so the least Dean can do is take a bite.

It’s...not bad. It’s pretty decent—a lot like the cornbread his mom makes with chili, but sweeter, a little stickier. He eats it and sips his coffee while Sam makes pornographic noises over his double-whatever cupcake and licks ganache from his fingers.

"Oh my god," Sam proclaims. "This is amazing."

"You’re a nerd," Dean says, but he finishes his honey cake and wipes his mouth.

Sam quirks an eyebrow. "How was that?"

"Good," Dean says. "Better than I thought."

"He’s cute," Sam says in that mock-innocent tone he uses to make it sound like he’s not sticking his nose into Dean’s personal life.

"Eat up," Dean orders. "Mom wants us home by five, and we’ve still gotta swing by the store and pick up milk."

"I’m getting one of these to go," Sam declares and heads back toward the counter with his empty mug and plate. Dean follows, listening to him chatter to Castiel about how light the cake was. He gets four of them, which Castiel packages in a yellow striped box with a black ribbon.

"Don’t worry, I’ll eat yours," Sam says to Dean as he pays.

"What did you think?" Castiel asks when he accepts Dean’s empty plate.

"Real good, thanks," Dean says.

"You’ll have to try a cupcake next time."

Dean rubs his neck. "Yeah, alright." He grins and elbows Sam in the ribs. "Come on."

"Nice meeting you," Sam calls to Castiel as Dean drags him out the door. "And good luck!"

Dean looks back over his shoulder, and Castiel winks.

+

Sam hands out the cupcakes after dinner, presenting one to everyone but Dean. The fourth stays in its box, where Dean discovers it after he finishes helping with the dishes. Mom and dad have retired to the couch, and Sam went outside to call Jess.

He opens the box and swipes a finger through the icing, sucks it off of his finger and closes his eyes. It’s not like any icing he’s ever eaten, smooth like liquid chocolate, but thick. He swirls his tongue over his fingertip to chase the last of it, then dives in for seconds. He eats the cupcake over the sink to hide the evidence of his icing theft, then puts the box into recycling.

It’s not apple pie, but it was pretty damn good.

Sam catches him with chocolate on his lips and smirks.

+

The cupcake shop is just two blocks from Winchester Auto on Massachusetts. Dean stops in on Monday during his break for a cup of coffee, checking his shirt for grease and fixing the front of his hair before he opens the door. Castiel is behind the counter and grins when he notices Dean.

"Wasn’t sure I’d see you again," he says. He points to Dean’s shirt. "Do you work around here?"

"Yeah, my dad’s shop is up the street."

"That’s convenient. What can I get you?"

"I didn’t eat lunch," Dean says, patting his stomach. He glances at the case and chews his lip as he peruses the day’s selections. This was probably a bad idea. Is carrot cake really made out of carrots? "Don’t suppose you have any pie."

"You need _food_ ," Castiel tells him with a chuckle. "It’s not on the menu, but I can do a peanut butter sandwich."

"That’d be great."

"Coffee?"

"What else do you have?" Dean asks.

"Do you trust me?"

Dean blinks. "Sure."

Castiel takes a glass bottle from a refrigerated case and puts it on a tray, then takes out a rustic-looking loaf of bread and cuts two slices. His peanut butter comes out of a tub, glossy with oil—probably the natural kind. He slathers it with jam and cuts the sandwich in half.

"Anything else?" Castiel asks, looking up. His eyes are distracting. Dean feels the blush creep into his cheeks and scuffs his shoe on the wood floor.

"You got any more of those honey things?"

Castiel laughs. It’s a good sound. He only charges Dean a few dollars, less than he should. 

"Your pay gonna get docked for this?" Dean asks.

Castiel presses his lips together momentarily. "This is my shop," he says, handing over the receipt with a gummy smile.

Dean eats by the window facing the counter. The soda is pomegranate flavored, not too sweet and extra fizzy. He likes it. When he licks honey from his fingers, he catches Castiel watching and grins.

+

"What was that jam you used last time?" Dean asks, leaning against the counter as Castiel slices four pieces of bread.

"Raspberry habanero," he replies.

"I liked it. Spicy."

Castiel hums and makes two sandwiches, which he photographs. "Honey cake?" he offers, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shrugs. "Surprise me."

Turns out that lemon cupcakes aren’t half bad. He tells Castiel that when he returns his tray, helpless when Castiel makes a swipe for his phone.

"Hey, give that back," Dean says, but Castiel already has it on the other side of the counter and is tapping on the screen.

"What’s your password?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I’m getting you an Instagram account."

"Again, why?"

"So you can follow me," Castiel tells him plainly and waits for the password with widened eyes.

Dean mumbles it but adds, "Just so you know, I’m never gonna check it."

+

The camera icon mocks him from its lone position on his screen. He ignores it for two days until he’s unable to sleep, then opens the app out of boredom.

The most recent picture is of a single cupcake with a green flower on the top, posted twelve hours ago. Yesterday, Castiel posted a picture of that cupcake Sam likes with the chocolate and the lemon one he’d served Dean with lunch. Before that is an entire tray done up in yellow icing. Pink cupcakes with coconut flakes. Two sandwiches and a tub of peanut butter. A guy sitting alone, staring out the window. It’s a second before he recognizes himself. It makes him feel funny, like that soda is fizzing down his throat. His thumb hovers over the heart icon but he doesn’t click it. He scrolls through months of cupcakes. The colors change with the season: red and blue for the fourth of July, bright colors for Spring, pastels near Easter.

The earliest picture is Castiel outside the shop, next to the door—probably the day he opened. He’s got his hands thrust in his back pockets and leans against the window. Dean gets a stupid flutter in his chest, presses the heart and shuts his phone.

+

He wakes up to two texts from Sammy and a notification that someone has tagged him in a photograph. He opens the app with half-lidded eyes and squints at the violently green icing.

The caption reads: _Key lime cupcakes #cupcakes #food #foodphotography #baking @impala67_

Dean presses the heart, writes Sam back, and shuts his phone. He grabs a shower and is brushing his teeth when his phone chimes.

Castiel has tagged him in another picture. It’s coffee in a to-go cup.

Dean stops by the cupcake shop before work and Castiel slides the cup across the counter along with a small yellow box. He waves Dean off when he reaches for his wallet.

Before he starts on his first oil change of the day, Dean snaps a picture of himself with the coffee cup to his mouth and tags Castiel. He stashes the yellow box with his coat for lunch time, scrubbing grease from his fingers before he decides that key lime cupcakes are shockingly edible.

+

Over the course of two weeks, Dean eats his way through the case, a fact he’s beginning to notice in his stomach. It’s a little more generous than usual, so he vows to take up jogging soon. He documents his cupcake addiction with a series of photographs of empty boxes. And then one of him giving a thumbs-up. And one of him with a cupcake to his lips. Castiel replies to that photo with a smiling emoticon, and Instagram says he's got likes from people he doesn’t know.

He stops by Castiel’s shop on his way in to work and sometimes at midday to stretch his legs. He often has to wait through a line of customers who hem and haw over what flavor to select. When he stops by over lunch on a Thursday in early April, Castiel is helping a group of co-eds who seem more interested in his eyes than his cupcakes. Dean loiters by the glass divider while they ask for icing samples. Castiel catches Dean’s gaze and winks.

"I’ll be right with you," he says to the girls and steps away from the register. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey." The girls’ laughter burns a blush onto his cheeks.

"Do you have time for lunch?"

"Sure," Dean says.

Castiel smiles, taps the edge of the counter and resumes waiting on the girls. They steal glances at Dean while they order and pay.

"That’s him," one of them whispers, and Dean isn’t stupid. He turns to them.

"Excuse me, ladies," he says with a winning smile. "I couldn’t help but overhear. Who do you think I am, exactly?"

"The guy from Instagram," the short one with dark hair and a beret answers. "Impala67 or whatever."

Dean gives a weak smile and doesn’t meet Castiel’s eyes until the girls are out the door.

"Didn’t know I was a celebrity," he says, red-faced. Castiel speaks immediately.

"I should have mentioned people can see your profile." His tone is contrite. "I can make it private."

"No, it’s...it’s cool." Dean laughs and rubs his neck. "Good thing I didn’t post any naked shots."

Castiel smiles with his lips pressed together. "Peanut butter today?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He scrapes some over four pieces of bread and assembles the sandwiches on the same plate.

"I could give you my number, if you’d like," he says without looking up.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. Castiel enters his information into Dean’s phone, and they sit by the window to eat.

+

Castiel Novak texts him goodnight and good morning, and over the course of the following day he sends pictures of squinty faces he makes in the kitchen and one of himself licking a spatula that makes Dean shiver. Dean sets the one of Cas next to the chalkboard (chalk stub in hand, head tilted toward his shoulder) as his phone’s wallpaper before accepting the invitation to hang out later. He sends a picture of himself in his blue work shirt, licking today’s soda-flavored cupcake creation, and hopes it makes Cas shiver in return.

Bobby mentions that Dean is smiling a suspicious amount and barks at him to get his ass under a car.

+

"Cas, you can’t have an apple pie cupcake," Dean declares, setting down his beer.

"It has apple pie filling in the center and a crumb topping," Cas argues across the kitchen counter. His apartment is small, but the kitchen is good sized, and he’s using Dean as a guinea pig.

"Yeah, but it’s still a cupcake," Dean says with defiance. He points at the offending item. "That ain’t pie."

"You liked the key lime one."

"That was different."

Cas sighs. "Just try it?" He holds the cupcake to Dean’s lips.

It smells good, like butter and cinnamon, the sweet aroma of apples. Dean parts his lips, lets Cas push the cupcake into his mouth, bump up against his tongue and teeth. Cas watches him all the while. Dean bites down slowly. The cake is still warm. It squishes along his gums, soft and spongy on his tongue. The topping is the perfect amount of sweet and crumbly, just like the dutch apple kind his mom makes—alright, so it’s a little like apple pie.

Cas is still watching him, eyes a little darker, face a little flushed.

"It’s good," Dean concedes, throat tight, voice rough. "Still not pie," he adds when Cas’s expression shifts into something more smug.

"Good enough for the menu?" Cas nudges Dean’s lip again.

"Yeah." Dean goes for another bite, but Cas lowers the cupcake and leans across the counter. Dean leans in. He learns the shape of Cas’s lips, the scratch of his stubble. His hands find Cas’s hair and hold tight. "Definitely good enough."

+

The apple pie cupcake is a hit, soon followed by a parade of pie-inspired flavors: cherry, pecan, pumpkin, and of course, key lime. They quickly rank among Cas’s best-selling flavors.

"Still not pie," Dean reminds Cas as he kisses his collarbone and works his pants down. The sheets are cold.

"Best of both worlds," Cas grunts and wraps his legs around Dean’s waist.

Cas falls asleep a little before eight. He has to get into the shop early to start baking. Dean runs a hand over his hair affectionately, bends down to kiss him before tiptoeing out of the bedroom. He lets himself out.

He skims through Cas’s texts, the hoard of photos they’ve sent each other as he’s lying in his own bed, unable to sleep. There are new posts on Instagram: the apple pie experiment, a picture of the Dr. Pepper cupcake with the caption " _Officially approved by @impala67_."

He falls asleep with an arm over his own side, longing for Cas’s piece-of-crap mattress.

+

"You have an Instagram?" Sam asks the first night home for summer break, leaning over a medium ribeye. "Since when?"

"Since mind your own business," Dean says, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. "Pass the potatoes?"

"What’s your username?"

"It’s shut the hell up."

Sam’s mouth slides into a grin, thick like that freaking ganache. "Castiel made you get it, didn’t he. I _knew_ you liked him."

"Hey, you know what?" Dean starts, face growing hot. "You can bite me."

"Boys, apologize to your mother," John orders and they both mutter _sorry_ before stuffing their cheeks with more food.

+

"So, Sammy started following me," Dean announces that night, flopping back on the pillows, waiting for his heartrate to come down. Cas laughs and presses his face into Dean’s shoulder, kisses it and gets out of bed. He walks out of the bedroom naked. A few seconds later, Dean hears him moving around in the kitchen: the soft thud of a cabinet door closing, the rattle of a fork on a plate.

"What are you doing in there?"

"It’s a surprise," Cas calls back.

Dean’s mouth waters in anticipation.

"Close your eyes," Cas says from the hallway. The door closes. The bed dips when Cas crawls onto it. He straddles Dean’s waist. "Open up," he directs and feeds Dean the first bite.

It’s _pie_. It’s not pie-flavored cake or pie filling in a non-pie vessel, but honest-to-god warm cinnamon apple filling, cradled in flaky perfection. He moans and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Holy shit, that’s good."

Cas hums his satisfaction, chases the first bite with his lips, then offers a second. When it’s gone, he sets down the fork and plate, takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply.

"I take it you liked that," he murmurs.

"Baby, if I knew you could make pie that good, I woulda been begging for it months ago."

With a laugh, Cas gets back under the covers. Dean reaches for him, pulls Cas against his side.

"They’re individual pies," Cas says. "I was thinking of offering them as a special."

"They’ll do awesome."

"I hope so." Cas swallows and is quiet for a few seconds. "If that’s the case, then I’d like to put them on the regular menu."

There’s a hesitance to Cas’s voice Dean has never heard, and he’s pretty sure they aren’t talking about pie anymore.

"Oh, yeah?" he croaks.

"Yes." Cas turns his face into the pillow. Dean awkwardly pets his hair.

"You okay?"

"I _really_ like you," Cas says. It comes out muffled. He lifts his head and blinks at Dean in the dim glow from the streetlights. "I think about you all the time. I hate when you leave. I save all of your pictures. I don’t know what you want out of this, but—"

"Hey," Dean murmurs, cutting him off with a kiss. His heart thunders in his chest at the realization that this is one of those Big Life Moments, but he manages to say, "Me too, alright?"

And then Cas is nodding and Cas is rolling on top of him, and everything between them is somehow simultaneously slower and more explosive. Cas kisses him unhurriedly, with passion, like he _loves_ Dean, and oh—that’s what this feeling is, like carbonation in his chest, bubbling up as smiles that even Bobby notices in the middle of a workday.

Before he falls asleep, Cas whispers "Stay" against his lips.

Dean does. He stays that night and the next, and when he goes home again, it’s to pack up a few things for a weekend that extends into a couple weeks, a month, the whole damn summer.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, that was fluffy. You can find me [on Tumblr](http://museaway.tumblr.com) and [on Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/museatplay). And if you like reblogging things, [here's the Tumblr post](http://www.museaway.com/post/114354047045/with-icing-on-top)!


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